"Is this the main point!" Minamoto Tamako slammed the receipt on the table, hitting it repeatedly as if it were Fushimi-kun's face: "The point is that all the waiters can testify that the wife went for this dinner that night."
"Did she finish it all? Quite an appetite, or maybe the portions at the restaurant were small," Fushimi Roku shook his head disapprovingly, "Bad review, not going there again."
"She didn't drink the abalone miso soup because Kujo... I mean, because the deceased was a foreigner, didn't like Japanese miso soup, said it was too bland."
Minamoto Tamako slammed the table angrily again, the bowls and chopsticks clattering: "No, that's not the main point either! The main point is, according to the forensic report, the food remnants in the wife's stomach matched the receipt items, and based on the digestion state, we can pinpoint the time of death at 11 p.m."
"And this one?" Fushimi Roku asked.
